The Hidden Monster
by nightfall26
Summary: There are assuredly monsters in this world, and they hide in all of us, waiting for their chance to emerge and become known. Christine has made her choice, and she is now facing the greatest battle of her life against a very real, and highly dangerous monster. e x c REVIEW!


_hello all my beautiful erik x christine phans! this is my first fanfiction for this particular shipping, and I'm very excited! please, feel free to give me criticism and ask me questions! I would adore reviews. _

_thank you all so much, and I do hope you enjoy. _

_all my love,_

_nightfall26_

_chapitre un: hausse du monstre._

_christine pov._

I'd been practicing all morning.

Raoul had been out all night, only returning this morning to slip silently into the bedchamber alone. Gustave played the piano for me for a little while before listening to me sing my scales. I was supposed to go to Phantasma tonight. I was to sing Erik's aria for him, for his audience, for the world he had come to know and love. While I trembled at the thought of being in his presence again, I reveled in it, too, thinking of how it felt to be on fire when he so much as glanced at me. So when the carriage arrived for me, I found myself boarding it, as if in a trance.

Something drew me there, like a moth to a flame.

And so here I waited, in my dressing room, after Raoul had come to plead his case before me and beg for my forgiveness, for my love. He'd groveled at my feet with eyes full of promises. Part of me, the naive little girl who had loved him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, wanted to forgive him. But the adult part of me, the part of me that had raised a child alone and dealt with abuse and neglect every day, couldn't stoop to forgive such a man.

Erik had come, too, his soul in his hands and love burning in his words.

But now, I was alone.

My throat felt like I'd been singing for hours, but my heart felt caged, still, as if I could sing for days and never feel completely free. It'd been years since I'd been allowed to sing, allowed to feel, allowed to be myself- allowed to _live. _My piano at home was dusty, the keys far from in tune; and my poor little Gustave was only to play it when my husband wasn't home. My boy so enjoyed the sound of music, especially when he created it.

My hands were fisted anxiously in the slippery material of my dress, and I could feel my nerves fraying. I stood in the doorway of my dressing room, watching the stage manager walk towards me with his hand extended.

"Miss Daae, the lights are darkening. I'll lead you on stage." His eyes were kind, feathering a little at the edges like Erik's did. I paused a moment, pressing my gloved hand to my mouth in sudden fear that what I was doing wasn't right. I'd been married to Raoul for ten years now, ten years that had waned and faded into sleepless, lonely nights. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laid beside him without secret, agonized tears in my eyes, without the pulse of fear in the pit of my stomach. Those brown eyes, which had once been filled with such adoration, such love, were colder than ice now. They had been for such a long time. I hadn't felt safe in my own home since the first few years I'd lived there. A present from his parents, our lavish apartment held nothing but memories of a happier family.

Could I be so childish and naive to imagine that he would change for me, now, after so many years of quiet suffering?

I placed my hand on the stage manager's arm, smiling at him gently as he lead me into the darkness. Darkness didn't frighten me any longer. I'd lived so long without the sun, without the warmth of happiness touching my heart, that the inky blackness was almost comforting. The only ray of hope in my otherwise meaningless life had been my darling Gustave, a child with eyes deeper than the night and a voice purer than gold. He'd been nothing but dutiful to his father, hoping for a scrap of affection, a moment where they could be father and son and not simply bastard child and a man who barely tossed him the slightest crumbs of love.

I'd been so afraid for so long that Raoul would discover my painfully kept secret, that he'd hear something hauntingly familiar in dear Gustave's voice, that he'd discover his strange obsessions for architectural designs or for machines rather than simple playthings. But he was so much less than a father to the poor boy that he barely noticed it when he was even in the room.

I'd thought, all those years ago, that I'd left the monster behind in the depths of the Opera House- but the true monster was the one who had snatched me up as his wife and used me for the money I brought in and the fame that sparkled about my name. Raoul De Chagny had once been such a sweet boy, filled with dreams of marrying the love of his life and living in peace and happiness for the rest of forever. But before long, his brother had died from scarlet fever, leaving his parents with a boy filled with dizzying dreams instead of ambition and an opera ballet rat for a wife.

So they turned their backs on him and his silly, boyish dreams, leaving him with nothing but me.

He blamed their desertion of him on me. With every snappish remark, with every scornful glance, with every time he refused to show me the love I so craved, I grew emptier still.

My wholeness had returned to me when _that_ voice had echoed through my ears, when _that _face was inches from mine, when _his _hands were resting on my hips and my heart was swelling with passion and love and forgotten emotions that trembled in my veins.

And it was for all those years of emptiness that I stepped onto that stage.

It was for that singular moment of relief that I'd felt when _he_ had reentered my life that I opened my mouth to release a lifetime of sorrows into the music that pooled around me.

I stepped out into that darkness, my dress rustling behind me as I released the stage manager's arm and toyed with my hair a moment before readying myself for the lights to come up. The necklace that Erik had hung about my neck was heavy, but my head was held high, and when my fingers skimmed the metal, I found it to be warmed by my skin. I dropped my hands to my sides, feeling the chill of my wedding band on my finger under my glove.

Ironic, wasn't it, that my marriage had brought me nothing but barrenness?

Before the lights came up, I hurried to slip off my glove and drop the ring into my palm to warm it. I replaced the blue, elbow length glove, clutching the ring as the brightness touched the edges of my vision. The music that washed over me like a wave brought me both pain and a gentle relief. I could feel the separate presences of the two men on either side of me who had each loved me with so much of themselves. Raoul's expression made the shadows fall across his face darkly, emphasizing the edges of the mask he wore for the rest of the world.

I knew what lurked beneath, I had seen his pain, the suffering he drowned in liquor, the disappointment that made his voice rise and his expression vacant. I felt sorry for him. But as the words to Erik's composition spilled from my lips, I found my eyes slipping across the stage and to my right, wavering a little as they skimmed over the tall figure cloaked in tension. He was riveted, his lips parted in awe as his music danced in the air between us. He seemed amazed that I was standing here, that I was holding up my end of the pact we'd made.

I wasn't doing it to keep my promise, no, not anymore. It was much more than that, I'd realized.

I was doing it because I hadn't felt this _alive _ since the day Gustave had been born. He made me feel pure, and whole, and loved, just by looking at me, by being near me. His hand had rested on the top of Gustave's head in a loving way that Raoul had never done. His lips curved in a smile every time my precious boy entered his presence, and I could tell that he ached to hear my child sing just as he burned to hear my voice echo around him.

The thoughts that echoed in my head suddenly became quiet as Erik tilted his head up, his eyes meeting mine in a way that made my very soul tremble like a hummingbird. As my voice grew stronger, I watched as his hand moved to his chest and he stumbled a little as he realized that I was singing for him. Of course I was singing for him, after all, hadn't I always? Every time I'd stepped onto a stage, my first thought was if he could somehow be there to hear my notes touch the heavens.

I found a new confidence welling in my chest, and for the first time since the last time I'd performed at the Opera Populaire, my wings were lifting from their cage and spreading. I opened my palms to the audience, and my wedding ring dropped to the floor, rolling to the left and bumping up against Raoul's shoes. He bent, examining, and a silent cry of pain rocked his shoulders.

I felt as if I'd just dropped the shackles that had bound me to him for the past ten years, as if something huge had just fallen away, leaving me with an ethereal lightness.

I stared out at the audience, reveling in my freedom, letting the warmth touch me, letting the music fill my broken soul and mend it. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Raoul's back was turned, and I choked a little on a note as he turned to walk away from me for the final time.

But as he vanished, the lightness in my heart only increased. For the very first time in ten years, I was singing for myself, for my heart, for my very real Angel of Music who had drawn me out of the despair my childhood had been filled with. The notes soared from my lungs as easily as ever. I was floating, ecstatic, happiness making my lips curve in a broad smile as my soul poured from me. When my last note hung in the air, and the applause filled the room, tears were dewing at the corners of my eyes.

Raoul was gone.

My husband was gone. He'd left me so easily, turning his back on ten years of-

Ten years of what? Of fear, of suffering, of stagnancy? Of quiet tears and hurt feelings and long nights sleeping alone? Of trying my best to pacify him so that he wouldn't raise a hand to my son, to my darling Gustave? He'd hit me before, but he'd never touch my son.

No, he hadn't left me. I'd left him, and he'd seen it written across my face as soon as I'd walked on stage. All he had done was accept that he'd lost and turned tail to run.

The stage manager pulled me back from the stage as the clapping began to dull, and I was rushed back to my dressing room in a whirlwind of emotion. The next act hurried to the stage as the lights dimmed again, a flutter of costumes that carried the heavy stench of makeup and powder. I entered the room clutching my heart, wondering how I had the strength to watch the man I'd spent my life with walk away from me as if he had never cared about me in the first place.

But when hands clasped my shoulders and the familiar voice that graced my wildest dreams surrounded me, I realized. Raoul had never been my great love- my love was right here, standing beside me, praising me for my vocals and hoping that my singing was a declaration of love.

"What a triumph you gave me, Christine!" He exclaimed, his eyes searching my face for the answers he'd been longing for since the day he'd met me.

"The song was beautiful- and it made me feel beautiful." I murmured, my eyes hovering just below his, hoping that he would understand that I hadn't felt beautiful in such a long time. I'd felt cheap in front of Raoul's family, as if I was never good enough for him, up until the day they disowned him. I felt ugly in front of Raoul every time he rejected my love and pushed me away. I felt useless for Gustave, for my innocent child who only wanted Raoul to love him.

But now, I felt beautiful- inside and out.

The slow silence after my remark frightened me somewhat; had I been misunderstood? But he tipped my chin up, forcing my eyes to meet his, and they were glowing with joy.

"That's because you are beautiful, Christine." He was trembling, I could feel it, his fingers spread wide as he tried to figure out where to go from here. I turned to him, facing him fully, and my forwardness made him take a shaky step backwards. He was like a beaten animal, cowering, tremors wracking his frame at the slightest movement I made. I reached out, my hands grasping his, reminding him that I was standing here now for him, and that I would never leave his side again.

"I sang for you tonight, Erik." I whispered, stepping closer to him, my eyes shy but my words unafraid.

"Your music made me alive once again." His jaw hung a little slackly at my words, and the shock that welled in his eyes was as if he hadn't imagined actually receiving love from a woman before. I lifted my hand to his face, gloved, and caressed the smooth skin with an infinite lightness. His lips were quivering as if he were trying to find the words to create some form of reply to me. A smile lifted the corner of my mouth.

Removing my glove, he watched silently, as he so often had before. Erik's eyes were questioning, but he remained stoic. I reached for him again, this time grasping the corner of his mask in order to remove it. He shook his head slowly, trying to pull away, trying to hide himself and protect what I had once run from.

"I'm not afraid." I murmured to him, slipping the mask from his face and staring at him with my heart reflected in my eyes. His lips were pressed together firmly, in fear, I supposed. So I stepped closer still.

His frame was tensed with fright, and so I moved a breath away from him.

I could hear the rasp of air in his lungs, moving quickly, preparing for flight if necessary.

But I proved him wrong.

I stepped lightly onto my tiptoes and placed a kiss onto his poor, scarred cheek, my bare hand resting lovingly on the top of his head. A heavy cry ripped from him, and he bent, crippled, tears choking his breath.

"Oh, Christine."

A long moment passed, full of pain, full of despair, and yet full of longing and desire. His eyes, as big and full as the moon, quivered with tears until they fell gently onto his cheeks. I wiped them away hurriedly. In his eyes, a thousand lifetimes of disappointment and sadness resonated in their icy depths. He flinched a little every time I raised my hand, as if I were going to strike him.

"I'm here, Erik. I'm just sorry I wasn't here sooner." I whispered, knowing he needed to hear the words and yet wondering how long I'd kept them a secret from myself. Silence greeted my ears as he stared at me, his eyes endlessly yearning for some brightness.

And then he reached forward, cupping my cheeks in his hands and pressing his lips to mine.

At that moment, it was as if I was suddenly ignited into burning flames. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, all I could do was _feel. _He was brilliance and he was beauty, he was forgiveness and yet he was pain. I pulled him closer still, enveloped by his arms, surrounded by him, by _love. _He smelled familiar and new all at once, and he felt like a dream.

When we separated, he was trembling, pressing a shuddering kiss to my knuckles and looking up at me with eyes darkened. It was almost like he still didn't believe that I loved him, that I'd chosen him.

All of a sudden, I turned away, overwhelmed by the emotion and startled by all that had happened in the past hour. As I did so, I noticed a note, laid carelessly on my desk. A long stemmed rose rested by it. I knew from a glance that it wasn't from Erik- the rose was covered in thorns and leaves, and every rose he'd ever given me had been carefully, painstakingly stripped of both.

It was from Raoul.

I read the letter from him carefully, out loud, feeling Erik's presence behind me and knowing his nerves must be fraying at the sound of the words I was reading.

But the only thought that ran through my head was that of my darling, my beautiful son, and how upset he must have been-

Gustave.

"Gustave." I choked.

"What?" Erik turned to me, eyes on fire, his stance tall and proud once more.

"I asked him to wait for Raoul." I was fluttering uselessly now, trying so hard not to cry, trying to be stronger than what I knew I was. A snarl came from him now, ripping through the vulnerability he had shown just moments before. He replaced his mask in one fluid movement before walking to the door and wrenching it open.

"I'll kill him if he's taken the boy- _our _boy." For a second, he looked tenderly down at me, reaching for my hand before we left the dressing room and I abandoned Raoul's note- and my husband- forever.

Erik shouted orders to his crew, and as we discovered that Raoul hadn't touched Gustave, my heart only clenched in pain at the idea of who could have. Madame Giry was wrestled from her post to Erik's side, spitting insults and pointing her accusatory finger at me as he grabbed her up and interrogated her.

"Do you think that I'm stupid? I know who the boy's father is, Christine Daae, and I know what you did." Her face was contorted with anger as she spat the words.

"I didn't take him, I wouldn't do something like that." She huffed, yanking herself from Erik's steel grip.

"Master, master!" The little voice of Erik's small gymnast came from the edge of the stage, and she placed herself carefully next to his other crew.

"Meg's not in her dressing room, and her mirror was smashed. Do you think she could have taken the boy?" My mouth dropped open in an O, wondering, hoping that my Meg, my beautiful friend who had somehow lost herself along the way wouldn't hurt my boy.

"I know where they could have gone!" Erik hissed, reaching for me, grabbing up my hand and tugging me along as we hurried out the side door of Phantasma.

"She's fond of swimming." He muttered, as we dashed along through the biting wind, hurrying through the darkness. For once, he wasn't wearing gloves, and the warmth of his hand soothed my anxious nerves. There was a long, lonely dock in front of us, clothed in mist and shrouded with darkness. Erik's hand slipped from mine, and he hurried to wrap his arm about my shoulders to soothe me.

In front of us, on the end of the dock, was Meg Giry and my son. Her hair was disheveled, the curls falling messily from her bun and her makeup streaked from crying. It was only now that I could see how painfully thin she was, how her collarbones stuck out and how her face was haunted.

"Gustave!" I cried, dashing forward to him, my arms open, my hands grasping, but she pushed him backwards-

"Meg, no!" Erik's voice, ever commanding, must have urged her to balance my poor boy delicately on the edge of the dock. She looked up, slowly, a darkness in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I've always wanted you to watch me, you know. Now I finally have your attention. After all this time." The grittiness in her voice disturbed me. She wavered, once, tears in her eyes.

Her eyes were red and puffy, much like when we were young girls and she would cry about rehearsals or boys or something silly and girlish. We cried about all sorts of things back then, whether or not they deserved our tears wasn't exactly prominent on our mindsets.

"Meg, please, give me the boy." Erik murmured lowly. He extended his hands to her, palms flat. Meg shook her head wildly.

"You know that song I sang, master? The one I worked on so hard, just for you, just so you could see me and be proud of me for once!" The words were ripping from her, tearing like paper in the heavy air between us. My palms were sweating.

The way she called him master turned my stomach.

"Yes, Meg."

"Bathing beauty, eh? Hah. I wanted to be _your_ bathing beauty. I wanted to be the star of Phantasma, to sing in pretty dresses and make more money than God. But do you know what happened to me?" She shrieked the question, holding on just loosely enough to Gustave so that he hung precariously from the chains of the dock. I tried to calm him with my expression, but he was staring at Erik, instead.

"Other men wanted me to be _their_ bathing beauty. They promised me money for my company, at first. Just to sit on their laps and be their pretty little girl, for a time. And then I realized that the bills were getting larger, and my salary wasn't. So the men sank their claws further into me, dragging me into their beds, because the only thing I had left to sell was _my body."_

Bile rose in my throat then, as my eyes raked over the destroyed woman in front of me who had once held so much promise. Selling herself? We'd never had much, especially being two teenage ballet dancers, but we'd had enough to be comfortable and we'd always been thankful for that. How had we fallen to such extremes?

_"_Oh, Meg, my poor girl-" Madame Giry had come up from behind me, reaching for her daughter. She eyed me with a bitterness that made me inch closer to Erik.

"Meg, please." Erik's voice was as smooth as silk, comforting, warm, thick as honey and yet poisoned by a terror I'd never heard in his words before. He was afraid, for Gustave, for me, for Meg. The idea that anyone could think he was heartless was silly to me now, as silly as I had once been, ten long years ago.

He cared more than anyone. The only difference was that nobody had cared about him before, so he'd been forced to hide behind a mask of anger and cruelty, keeping his distance from the world that had given him nothing but pain.

"But no! I kept singing for you, master, and dancing, and begging for the scraps of your attention! I did everything for you, and you left me with nothing!" Meg slammed her hand down on the dock rail, sobs wracking her thin, little shoulders, and she grabbed up Gustave with both arms. I jumped forward with a gasp.

There was no way she could kill my boy, no way in the world that my sweet Meg would do such a thing-

"Take him." She pushed him towards me, and I could see blood on her lips from where they'd cracked. Gustave was trembling when he made it safely into my arms, and I knelt, pulling him close to me.

"Now, now, darling, you're safe, it's going to be okay." I whispered, smoothing down his hair and clutching him tightly.

"So now that you're finally watching me, here's the big finish and then you're free to leave with your _petit ange _and her bastard child." She spat, yanking a pistol from the folds of her dress. I gasped in horror as she pushed the barrel to her temple, screwing up her face and shutting her eyes. _  
_

"Gustave, here, don't look." I murmured, pressing his face into the curve of my neck. Madame Giry had leapt over us, crying out like an injured animal as Erik pushed her back.

"Meg, give me the gun. Hand me all of your grief, and your pain, and the gun. I was blind, Meg, and I apologize, just give me the gun." Every word was softer than cashmere, drowning us in the dulcet tones of his convincing, hypnotizing voice. Meg shook her head once, sobbing.

He could save her. Nobody else in the world had the power over the human psyche like he did, and he could save her, he could pull her out of her darkness and bring her back to the light. My heartbeat was a drum in my chest.

"You don't know what it's like!" She wailed, the gun flailing around, her finger against the trigger. I bowed my head over Gustave protectively, my fingers stroking through his hair as I whispered words of comfort to him.

There was no way that this would end well. My poor Meg's mind had shattered, leaving her with an emptiness that only the Phantom of the Opera had experienced. The way he reached for her, the way he was walking towards her, I recognized it all.

He knew where she was, it was where he had once been.

"I do, Meg, I know what it's like, to feel all of that brokenness. Hand it to me, with the gun, Meg, and you'll be fine, I promise."

"You promise?" Her face was relaxing, much to my relief, relaxing into a stupor-like state that I had once been in myself.

"Yes, of course. You feel used and cheap, Meg, I know, but I can see underneath all of that."

"You can?"

"Just give me the gun, Meg."

A moment of heavy silence passed over us, and we all watched with bated breath as Meg lowered the weapon to Erik's waiting hands, slowly, slowly, nearing the end of this madness. Her lower lip quivered, once, as she teetered on the edge of insanity and yet hoping for a freedom from it. All of a sudden, she let out a terrible sob, dropping the gun from her grasp.

Once the metal object fell into his hands, her face crumbled, and he placed the gun carefully on the ground behind him.

"Thank you, Meg." He said softly, turning to face me again, his eyes filled with a deep fear. I offered up a small smile to him in that one moment of peace, feeling the warmth of his gaze and the warmth of our boy in my arms. I lifted my hand to him.

But all of a sudden, in the silence, Meg seemed to gather her resolve again. She began to hum a tune, one that I assumed went along with her bathing beauty lyrics, her hands fisting in her messy hair.

"Meg, come here, please." Madame Giry begged, moving towards her daughter just as Erik moved towards me. In that instant, she looked at us, her face drawn and pale and so full of agony.

"Now that you're watching..." She whispered the words under her breath, to herself, stepping lightly towards the edge of the dock.

"Meg, no!" I cried, standing up and reaching for my old friend just as she threw herself off the edge and into the black waves.

"No!" Madame Giry screamed, throwing herself at the rail of the dock, horrible cries shaking her whole body.

My eyes were rooted to the spot where my friend had stood just a moment ago, barely able to believe what had just happened. Erik gathered me into his arms just as Gustave wrapped himself about my legs.

"God, no..." I barely felt the tears that were cascading down my cheeks. The poor soul had been so lost, she hadn't been able to see a way out of her pain.

"This is all YOUR fault." Madame Giry was on her feet again, hair wild, the gun securely in her hands. I hurried to push Gustave behind me just as Erik stood in front of me. She was directing the comment at Erik, her voice wavering with pain.

"Madame Giry, please, don't do this." His voice didn't have any effect on her, this we all knew. A terrible sneer curled her lips, making her appear wretched and frightening. This wasn't the woman who had raised me as her own, who had taught me how to dance and how to speak for myself.

"Please, Madame, you were once my only family." My voice cracked as I uttered the words, hardly able to believe that this frayed, elderly woman was the same who had guided me through my first ballet routines. How could she be this hurtful? Since I'd come here, she'd been nothing but cold and unfeeling, whereas the last time I'd seen her, she'd been a mother figure to me.

But she didn't acknowledge me. Instead, she took a step nearer to us, her jaw tightening.

"We smuggled you out of France and helped you become successful, Erik. Without us, you would be nothing. And this is the thanks that we get? My daughter became a prostitute so she could afford to stay here, for you! And now, because of that, she's dead!"

"And YOU." She rounded on me now, her eyes bubbling with fury.

"I raised you as my own, took you in when no one else would! I bathed you, clothed you, fed you! And now, look how you've repaid me, by seducing the one man that you cast aside all in your own personal favor? What a selfish girl you are, Christine, and I'm ashamed of you."

My eyes smarted with tears of anguish as she pelted me with unbearable insults. Gustave's face was buried in my side, and I held him there with the hopes that he didn't have to hear this betrayal.

"The Opera just wasn't enough for you, was it? No, of course not! You had to crush her beneath you like an insect, making my poor Meg wilt in Christine Daae's shadow! You had to revel in your glory days again, didn't you, Erik? You couldn't leave any scraps for the rest of us!"

With that, she pulled the trigger of the gun, aimed right at Erik, and I gasped, hurrying to set Gustave down so I could push Erik out of the way, _oh God _why didn't he just get out of the way?

"Erik!" I cried, helpless, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping she'd miss. I waited for the sound that would mean the sure death of the only living human that I could say I loved- aside from Gustave.

But it never did.

"What is this?" Madame Giry spat, hitting the gun against her palm. Erik, calmly and coolly, raised his hand to her and dropped the bullets that had been contained in his closed fist down into the water one by one.

"Your days are finished, Madame Giry. Pack your things and go. Immediately." I heard the clatter of the gun against the floor of the dock and the flurry of feet as she hurried away, and sank to my knees, hugging my dear Gustave to me tightly. I glanced up, confused as to why Erik hadn't joined me, and noticed he was standing off to the side with a pained expression on his face. I smiled at him.

"Come here, your place is with us." With the ghost of fear still in his eyes, he knelt hesitantly, wrapping one arm around me and the other around his son. I allowed my head to sink down onto his shoulder, and in that moment, all was beautiful and right.

The sound of footsteps alerted me, and I looked up, noticing that Raoul was standing before us.

He spoke not a word, instead he stared at us silently, horror on his face.

"I don't understand how you could love a _thing_ like that, Christine." He hissed, his hands curling into fists. I gently eased myself from my family's embrace, standing tall against the man I thought I had once loved.

"I thought you were a good enough man to refrain from insults when you've been beaten." I said softly, so that Gustave wouldn't hear. Raoul narrowed his eyes at me.

"I'm not a good man at all, Christine. Not anymore."

"I know." I said the words sadly, looking into the face of a man who had lied to me in my dressing room, who had lied to me the past ten years. He wasn't the prince charming, or the knight in shining armor, but he was the dragon that needed to be slain. He'd kept me around for the money I generated, and nothing more.

"You once loved me, Raoul, didn't you?" I whispered. He nodded slowly.

"Of course I did. I still do, in a way, and that's my only redeeming feature." Raoul chuckled a little, sheepishly, his hands deep in his pockets.

"I think it's best if you leave now." The words were sticky in my mouth, but they needed to be said. He sighed, heavily, rubbing his hand through his hair and bowing his head. His frame curled inward, and I saw him for who he truly was- an alcoholic with no money and no means of getting anywhere.

"You're right, Christine. I've overstayed my welcome by about ten years. I'm sorry to have put you through this." He spoke tiredly, turning away from me with an agedness that had never been there before. For a second, I saw the Raoul that I had known as a child, the young boy with a wide smile and a big imagination. I felt sorry for him, honestly. He had once been a wonderful human being, and the corruption of society had eaten his dreams and taken him from me.

"Mother, I'm frightened." Gustave was clutching at my skirts, his little face buried in the taffeta. I stroked his head.

"There, there, it's alright." I cooed, glancing up at the man clothed in black that was now dusting off his shoulders. Erik moved so gracefully, like a dancer.

"I suppose you'll be wanting me to go, then." Erik's voice was bitter, and I swept around, startled by his words.

"Why on Earth would you suppose something like that?" I questioned, moving closer to him with my hand extended across the space between us. A tremor rocked his body, and he reached, too, his hand slipping into mine.

"Because he's right. Why would you ever want to stay with a monster?" The word was spiked with bitterness, and I gripped his hand.

"Don't you ever refer to yourself as that again, Erik. You're not a monster. I think it's become quite clear who the real monster was, this whole time. I'm just sorry I was naive enough to be blind to the truth." For a moment, he bent, his lips a whisper across the skin of my hand.

"I don't deserve you." He murmured, the words silky and yet still self-demeaning. I shook my head slowly.

"You've got such interesting notions about yourself, Erik." My tone was teasing, and I watched as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards a little before fell back into a seriousness that made my blood run cold.

"We should find someplace safe. I'll have Squelch get your things from your apartment, I'm sure Fleck will pack them nicely. You can stay with me until we find a new place to go."

"Mother, mother, where's father?" Gustave surfaced from my skirts all of a sudden, his voice desperate, his small hands grasping for me. My lips pressed together in a firm line.

"Gustave, my darling, do you think Raoul has been a good father to you?" I asked softly, bending to irk his nose with my fingers. He laughed a little.

"I think that he tried, mother, but for some reason there was always something about me that he didn't like."

"That's because you and I love music, and he grew to despise it." Erik's face was stormy at this, and I suddenly felt nervous about telling him how Raoul had grown to mistreat Gustave and I over the years. His temper was monumental.

"Why is that, mother? Music is beautiful." I couldn't help but smile at my lovely son's innocence, at the curiousity in his eyes and the questions in his heart.

"Music is beautiful, yes, I couldn't have said it better. Raoul doesn't like music because he can't relate to it. He doesn't feel the emotions in it like you and I do, darling."

I paused for a moment, raking a hand through my messy curls and realizing that I was never going to see Raoul again. I was going to spend the rest of my life with someone who loved me more than life, and Gustave, my beautiful boy, had to know.

"He thinks of it as a connection between me and an old, dear friend of mine. A friend that he dislikes."

"A friend?" His eyes were wide and endless and trusting, and I caressed his cheek lovingly.

"Yes, my darling. You've met my friend, here, haven't you?" I turned my boy around to face Erik, who looked surprised at the strange way I was doing this. I smiled up at the masked man, urging him to trust me.

"Mister Y? Yes, mother, but-"

"His name is Erik, Gustave, and I've been friends with him nearly my whole life."

Gustave looked a little shocked, turning back to me with questions on his lips.

"I know you're a little frightened of him, my dear, but don't you also like him a bit?" I asked the question with the hopes that Gustave could learn how to see with his heart, as I'd tried to teach him, rather than the clouded eyes that Raoul had given him. He nodded hesitantly. Erik had mentioned how afraid he'd been when he'd seen his face, and honestly, I couldn't blame him. It was such a shock the first time, and Erik hadn't exactly done it in an easy way.

"We see the same things, mother, and we like the same things." He said the words slowly, as if questioning why I was telling him these things.

"Well, dear, Erik-"

"No, Christine, you promised!" Erik burst, his face twisted with emotion. I raised a hand to silence him, and he spluttered.

"He needs to know, Erik." Gustave peered cautiously up at the much taller man clothed all in black, with the sweeping cloak and the powerful presence of a magician.

"Gustave, Erik is your real father." I murmured, grasping him gently by the shoulders in hopes that he wouldn't be upset by this. A little quiver ran through my son, my pride and joy, as the silence around us grew too much for Erik to bear. I could sense how on edge he already was, and by no means was Gustave's silence helping.

But my brave little boy only brushed my hands off of my shoulders and walked towards my Angel of Music, lifting his hand to pull the mask delicately from his face. My poor angel was shivering in fear, hoping desperately that Gustave wouldn't reject him again. I wasn't sure if Erik could handle another rejection.

"I think he's beautiful, Mother." Gustave said quietly, placing his small, childlike hand on the mottled side of Erik's face. If he was feeling any emotion, he didn't let show- save for a single tear that escaped his eye. I smiled a little, slowly, feeling a warmth inside me that hadn't been there in what felt like forever.

"Yes, dear, I think he is too."

* * *

_raoul pov._

I tipped the shot glass back against my lips, feeling the burn of the whiskey as it pulsed down my throat.

"She had no reason to love me." I muttered, feeling vague and muddled as the alcohol worked its magic on my system. I ran my hands through my already mussed hair and loosened my cravat, leaving the pin on the counter. It was a pearl cravat pin, Christine had bought it for me on our first anniversary, back when I hadn't had to use her money to live. I wasn't bitter over my loss of her, I was only angry at myself for not being able to be a better man.

I'd known for some time that my behavior wasn't exactly the best towards her, but since my parents had abandoned me, I'd gone a little insane.

Well, alright, a little bit more than that.

I was prone to angry outbursts that I would hardly remember, moments of rushing, awful paranoia that numbed me and left me empty. I hadn't made love to my wife since the first few years of our marriage, for fear that the rush of emotion would send me spiraling into an episode. I kept my distance from her for her safety.

But when Gustave had been old enough to discover music, and when the first few haunting notes had echoed through our house, I'd felt the familiar pang of anger rush through me. I'd smashed a glass the first time, yelled at my wife the second. The third, I'd flown off the handle, throwing a glass at my wife and forcing her to lock her and Gustave in the bathroom for several hours.

I'd never told her about the episodes, in hopes of retaining some normalcy to our family.

The Phantom had always disturbed me, and he was another trigger. I saw the way her eyes dulled when he was mentioned, or when I gave her a red rose. I'd noticed how she had a box in her closet full of rose petals, letters, and black ribbons, all from _him._ She'd prayed diligently at night, and sometimes, when she thought I was sleeping, she asked for God to return her Angel of Music to her to save her from the hell she lived in.

The first time that had happened, I'd blacked out, and I'd awoken to a wife with a bruise coloring her jaw.

So I'd requested to sleep in a separate room from her. I'd never hit her again, to my knowledge.

But it was so ironic, that she'd left the Opera with a man she believed to be her savior, and he'd turned out to be the monster instead. I chuckled a little lowly.

"Another drink, please, sir." I said slowly, hardly able to enunciate.

But the bartender hadn't heard me. Ah, it was probably for the best. I sank back into my chair, waiting quietly for sunrise so I could board the ship that would take me away from here and home to an empty house.

* * *

_madame giry pov._

Fear was pulsing through my veins as I quickened my pace to the hotel Christine and Raoul had been staying in. When I found that her things had vanished, and there was no trace of Raoul, I felt tears burning in my eyes. I sat down heavily in one of the abandoned chairs, seeing the broken glass on the floor, the bottles, the dark stains that I assumed were from liquor.

I'd wanted a moment with her, just one, to apologize and to beg for her forgiveness. There was no possible way that she knew of the hell that my daughter and I had lived in these past few years, scraping by to make ends meet. We'd endured poverty because some of the stagehands stole our wages as a practical joke. Erik had been too completely overcome by his own grief and brokenness to help us, even though we'd helped him.

My love and respect for him changed, over time, into a strange bitterness. We had helped him so much, and because of his emotion, he couldn't stoop to offer us any help? I shook my head, sighing. It was no use, not anymore.

Especially since _he'd _come. It had started with asking questions about Erik, once he'd found out about the curious Mister Y. It went from there into a white-hot paranoia, in which he'd held me at knife point and made me promise to maintain silence around Christine, to not greet the girl I'd practically raised with anything but coldness. He'd forced me into trying to kill Erik, trying to earn him an early death so that Meg and I could collect the fortune he'd left us in his will.

Well, we were free to collect some of it- and the rest would go to _him _so he could pay off his debts.

I'd become jealous and even cruel towards Christine, seeing her as a pawn in _his _game. Meg, the poor thing, had fallen hopelessly in love with Erik, and every time I tried to remind her of how his heart lay with Christine, I spoke a little more cruelly about my curly haired soprano. She had admired Christine for so long, and now her beautiful illusions of her friend were crushed, which- as sick as it was- only made me feel better.

Meg had died before my very eyes because of me, because I'd made her believe things that weren't true. Christine hadn't replaced us, hadn't replaced Meg. She'd only come for one night, to sing for one show. She hadn't even intended to.

But when Erik had his will changed, when he'd decided to leave everything to his son, the game had changed. The demands became greater, and _he _became steadily more and more violent.

My hand had been forced at every turn- he'd threatened to have Meg murdered, he'd threatened to ruin us forever. All because he hadn't wanted Erik to see Christine, all because he had been so deathly afraid of what would happen when they met. And when they had met, the demands became worse.

"Kill him, ruin him, anything to keep them from singing together." He'd screamed, throwing a glass down on the floor. My daughter had been so shaken, she'd wept with her head in my lap for hours.

And now, he was loose, running about this town with no wife, no son, and more problems then he could assuredly remember. I hoped to God that he wouldn't try to use me in any more of his games.

Raoul de Chagny was a monster.

_thank you so much for reading this first chapter, my dears! I'm so thrilled to finally be writing my favourite pairing. _

_please, do leave me a review. I'd love to know what your thoughts were on this chapter and how to further improve. _

_thank you all, again!_

_~nightfall26_


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